Not What I Wanted
by Zero.Elektronik
Summary: This isn't what I wanted, but I can't seem to stop myself. Christophe/Kyle. Slash. Not too sure if I like this one, opinions?


**AN: Slash/Gay/Yaoi - featuring Tophlovski but can be read as anyone. Sorry I haven't update in a while, I've started college, and had lots of work to do!**

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This isn't what I want.

I'm here again, for the fourth time this week. I somehow found my way into your room, into your bed, into you. We've been doing this for months now, we argue, we fuck, again and again until we can't stand it anymore. It's cruel, the way you'll look at me so innocently whilst softly saying "I love you", moving your hand to my chest and I know that really, you're trying to see if a heart beats where it should. You faintly feel a pulse, but that's all that it is, muscle and blood and skin, nothing more. Whilst I sit, more interested in watching the smoke from my lips, and stay silent. It's the little moments like that where I can sometimes see your heart breaking, Kyle, – and I know I should feel guilty but I don't. Somewhere along the line, you fell in love. What a stupid mistake to make, eh?

We're arguing now. I can't remember what it is I said that sparked your anger, but I can't say I mind – a good fight is always enjoyable and I know that better than anyone. You've called me a cold-blooded, mentally unstable murderer, a pathetic excuse for a human being. I nod quietly, picking the dirt from underneath my nails and remaining silent. The insults you spit at me have no effect on me; I've heard them all before, some of them I've heard too many times to count. Sooner or later you'll apologise, tell me you love me and you don't want me any other way. In my mind, it's almost like you want me to hurt you – and we both know that it's guaranteed I will. I don't know why I do this to myself, to you. I let myself be used at your expense, I fuck you when you want it, I'll offer you my jacket when you say you're cold and offer a harsh remark at the same time, I protect you from things you don't even know are happening. You like to pretend that somewhere, deep down, I like you back but we both know that isn't true, don't we Kyle?

I've got you against the wall, you're still pissed off and trying to win this confrontation, even though I'm pressing you into the wall. Your eyes are full of anger, but you don't even want to look at me; I grab your pretty face and turn it to look at me. I roughly press my lips against yours; forcing your lips apart and pushing my tongue inside and briefly contemplating how you could probably bite my tongue in half if you wanted to right now, before you kiss back and let out a squeal of annoyance when I bite down hard on your lips. You move your hands around my neck, pulling me closer and digging them hard into the skin; I assume this is your way of trying to dominate the situation. I pull away for a moment, feeling the heat on your skin which reminds me just how alive you are. I could get this from anyone, but you want it from me. I'll pretend I care for tonight. I whisper something into your ear in French, _"Tu m'emmerdes_", and I notice you twitch and lean closer to kiss me. I force my mouth back onto yours, you taste sweeter than usual, and you moan into my mouth half-heartedly, _"Christophe."_

It's not long before we're half dressed; I push you off your feet and you land ungracefully on the floor. Your boxers are already off, and you're pulling mine down carelessly, I join you and grab your legs, pulling you closer towards me and lifting up your bony hips until I'm sat comfortably between your thighs. Your skin is pale, perfect, compared to mine. I lean down to get closer to you, and kiss along your neck, leaving a trail of purple bite marks as I go to your ear, biting that gently until you moan softly. You're never usually this quiet; I guess you just don't want me to think I've won. I keep one hand pinning you down forcefully, the other helping you to wrap your skinny legs around me, before I smirk and roughly enter you. This is where I feel alive. In a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, stray strands of your hair sticking to your damp forehead, your girlish moans breaking the silence and the occasional grunt from myself. Your hands clawing and scratching under my shirt along my spine, my back arches in response and you try to kiss me; I turn away. For a moment, I figure out why I keep doing this. There's some sick sort of pleasure I get from seeing you helpless underneath me, the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe heavily, the way you moan my name with your shivering breath, the way your bite into your already swollen lips as you try not to moan too loudly whilst your body shakes underneath mine.

You're lying breathless on the floor, and I've already moved on, preoccupying my lips with a cigarette. You glance over to me and smile, it's almost sickening how sweet you look, and I assume that this is what counts as your apology. I've won this time, like I always do. I see your hand move forward as if to reach out and touch mine, but you pull it back before it gets there and it's not long before you look away again, sitting up straight and inspecting the damage lazily in the mirror. Tomorrow you'll probably be wearing a lot of layers; to cover up the dark bruises on your wrists, the bite marks along your collarbone. Knowing you, you're probably already regretting letting this happen again, letting me win again, and I can't help but smile for a moment before my eyes focus on the smoke in front of me.

This isn't what I want, but it's something to pass the time.

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End file.
